The Cave of Red Sea-Light

As told by Skritch Half-Tail, humble survivor of the Most Secret-Sneaky, Most Fire-Burning Ember-Warp Conclave

I was not cowardly. No-no.

Important scouting duties, yes. Observing from safe-place. Someone must watch-see and report, yes? That was my task.

The Conclave had come to the sea-cave under the Brazenskull volcano. I hated it immediately. Too much water smell. Too much open sky through the cave mouth. Waves crashing like angry thunder-beasts.

Zyrr Quickfoot said there might be signs of a Verminlord there.

Whenever the Deathmaster talks about Verminlords, wise rats keep their heads down. Verminlords mean plots inside plots inside plots.

Struk Covenlasher complained the whole time.

“By the sea? Wet feet! Disgusting,” he grumbled while Kret Skulksnare opened gnawholes and the Conclave crawled up from the tunnels.

The cave was enormous. Big enough for a thousand rats. Maybe ten thousand. The gnawholes glowed sickly green, and red sea-light poured in from the cave mouth like bleeding fire.

Zyrr slipped deeper into the darkness like a shadow with whiskers.

Etoch Spleensplitter wandered around poking rocks and licking strange minerals like the mad flesh-gnawer he is.

“Interesting… interesting…” he muttered.

When a Master Moulder says that, good rats hide behind larger rats.

I chose a very large rock.

Then Struk’s whiskers twitched.

That is when I knew we were doomed.

“I know them,” he muttered. “Rhi’ol and Thaa’ris… stealing my stone again.”

Before anyone could squeak warning—

They came.

Not from the cave mouth.

Not from the tunnels.

From the walls.

Slaangors poured out of cracks and shadows like claws given legs. Huge things. Fast things. Faster than rats should ever be, can ever be.

The first ones tore into the clanrats beside me. Limbs flew everywhere. I bravely leapt aside to observe the attack from a safer angle.

The Surgeon’s Dream roared and blasted warpfire, but the beasts ripped chunks from it. The Grinder Pack’s doom-flayers screamed forward—then exploded as claws tore them apart.

The Doomwheel spun wildly before the beasts dismantled it piece by piece.

Even the Stormlash Volt-Pack ran.

Very wise of them.

For a moment it looked like the Conclave would be finished. I considered escaping heroically to warn future generations.

Then everything caught fire.

Warpfire poured across the cave like green rain. Slaangors screamed and burned.

The ground exploded.

Etoch’s Fist burst from below, huge rat ogors clawing and smashing. Slaangors flew apart like rotten fruit.

Then came the bell.

Kret Skulksnare stood high on his Bell-Engine, ringing doom across the cave. The sound made my teeth itch.

He pointed one claw at Rhi’ol the Arrogant.

The human lord shrivelled before my eyes, his strength leaking away like spilled blood.

Then Thaa’ris the Painbringer tried to rally his beasts—

And vanished under warpfire and warp-bullets.

After that the fight ended quickly.

Kret drove the Bell-Engine straight over the last Slaangors. Crunch-crack-splat.

The survivors of the Corrupted dragged their broken lords away, fleeing the cave in terror.

Very sensible.

Silence returned except for the sea and the crackle of burning flesh.

Struk found a mace dropped by Rhi’ol. A shiny thing. I thought it looked valuable.

Struk stared at it a long time.

Then he spat.

“Bah. Junk.”

He kicked it aside.

Important leaders are very good at recognising useless treasures.

After that the Conclave began repairs.

Doom-flayers rebuilt. Doomwheel reassembled. Etoch stitched rats together in new and horrifying shapes.

For once Struk and Etoch worked together.

I stayed far away, watching carefully in case anything exploded.

When they finished, they stepped back proudly.

Before them stood monstrous rat ogors bigger than any I had seen before. Their bodies were covered in machinery—ratling guns, grinder fists, spinning doom-flayer gauntlets. Warpfire sparked from some. Bladed whirred on others.

“Magnificent!” Struk declared.

“A masterwork!” Etoch agreed.

"Interchangeable weapons!" gushed Struk

At that moment Zyrr Quickfoot returned from the deep tunnels, eyes glittering.

“The daemon was here,” he whispered.

“We are getting closer.”

I decided then that perhaps surviving this Conclave was not good luck after all.

But I will continue observing bravely.

From behind large rocks.

Very large rocks. 🐀